


> Disciple:  Tell her the deal. (Part 2 of 2)

by batyatoon



Series: Redglare:  S33k the Huntr3ss. [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batyatoon/pseuds/batyatoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story must be told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	> Disciple:  Tell her the deal. (Part 2 of 2)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lea_hazel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/gifts).



There isn't room in the cave for Pyralspite, but the stoop is broad enough for her to sprawl loosely with her head and neck just inside the blood-decorated doorway and the rest of her outside. The bulk of her shoulders helps shade the interior of the cave from the blinding sunlight, making it comfortably dim. Her eyes are mostly closed, although every so often she peers narrowly at the leoness, similarly sprawled on the other side of the cave (and watching the dragon in return through green slitted eyes).

Redglare sits on the cave floor -- or rather, on one of the shaggy pelts strewn about the cave floor -- and leans against her lusus's cheek, unconsciously seeking comfort from the familiar scaly warmth. She watches the Huntress prowl the room, build up the fire, pour hot water from a battered pot into two crude bone cups; the scent of some herb rises from them, curiously soothing.

"You came here s33king me," the Huntress says abruptly. "Why?"

She swallows. "1 C4M3 S33K1NG YOU, Y3S. 1 W4NT3D TO H34R YOUR STORY. H1S STORY."

The older troll sets down the cups and folds herself up into a compact huddle opposite Redglare, arms wrapped around her knees, her too-large leather cloak billowing in loose green folds around her. Her lusus picks herself up and pads closer, settling behind her like the back of a couch. "I will ask you again: why?"

"B3C4US3 ..." She can't figure out how to put it into words.

The Huntress leans forward and pulls a half-burned stick out of the fire, waves it until it stops smoldering. "If you truly wish to hear his story ... then tell me yours."

Redglare breathes out, and leans to pick up one of the cups, and stares into it. And begins to speak.

She doesn't notice the charcoal stick moving as she talks, drawing a sequence of pictures along the stone floor of the cave with quick, skillful strokes. The sequence depicts a young troll girl, alone but for the egg that will someday hatch her lusus, growing up with a passion for justice -- specifically, for orchestrating the demise of the wicked. Dividing her time between playing at law and studying the real thing; seeking to join the ranks of the legislacerators. Not there yet, but soon, soon --

Discovering one old book, among the many she collected, that talked about a different kind of justice. Not just bringing down the wicked, but lifting up the oppressed.

"1T H4D TH1S SYM69L," she says, lifting the chain from around her neck again.

The charcoal scrapes across the floor in two broad arcs, over and under, each one coiling into a loop at one end. "Do you know what it means? Where this shape came from?"

Redglare shakes her head, and the Huntress gives a quiet sigh.

"Let me purrpare a meal," she says, indicating the carcass of an armored cholerbear hanging in the back of the cave, "and we will speak further."

  


Far, far into the day they talk, as the blazing sun wheels overhead. The Huntress -- the Disciple -- spares no detail, painting a vivid portrait of the troll with no sign and no lusus, the troll who dared to speak of a different way for trolls to be, and of the fate he suffered at the hands of those who feared him.

Neither of them suggests sleep.

 _The reason you n33ded to hear his story,_ says the Disciple at one point, _is the same as the reason I n33ded to hear yours. It's the same story. It is **all one story**. There is no other hope fur us but that we come to realize it, as he did._

 

It's night again by the time Redglare leaves. She thinks it's only been one night, though she can't be certain; it feels like she was there for sweeps, living the story rather than just hearing it. When she asks _SH4LL 1 COM3 4G41N?_ , the Disciple says _You will not n33d to._

But she plans to anyway. Someday, when she's older, when she's achieved the career nomination she so fiercely desires. When she can rightfully wear the uniform of a neophyte legislacerator. Or after her first great victory, perhaps. She can come back and tell the Disciple what justice she has achieved. What punishment she has dealt the bluebloods, in the Sufferer's name.

That will be a story worth sharing.


End file.
